“Yes, oh,” he replied, sounding aggrieved. He released her chin and hand, and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I could never leave a child of mine, nor could I leave you to raise my child alone—not in your time, not in my time, not in any time.”
That he would think of such a thing, of a possible child and what it could mean for her and the bairn, made her want him that much more. But she kept her thoughts silent, because he was right. Yet, she had heard enough whispers from the ladies-in-waiting at Kinghorn to know there were acts that did not lead to a child. She couldn’t make herself suggest it, though. She was too embarrassed. But perhaps…
She took his hand. “Bathe with me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her cheeks burned with her wanton words, but she refused to believe what she was feeling for him was sinful.
He stared at her for a long moment, silence lengthening between them, his face darkening first with obvious concern and then with what she swore looked like desire. “Ah, Maggie,” he moaned, and she thrilled because she knew she’d triumphed in the moment. “Just bathe?”
She bit her lip, her mortification acute, but she forced herself to answer truthfully and tell him what she was thinking. “Are there nae things men and women can do together that will nae result in a bairn?”
His gray eyes became smoldering depths of sin. “Many things,” he said, his voice husky. “Shall I show you?”
She nodded, and without a word, he grasped her wrists, lifted her arms, and slowly drew her gown upward. It was the most tantalizing moment of her life. Inch by inch, the material rose, and his gaze held hers, growing hotter and hungrier with every bit of skin that became exposed.
“Maggie,” he kept saying reverently, as if her name were a prayer upon his lips.
He guided the gown over her head and past her arms, then tossed it to the side where it landed in a puddle by the wooden tub. Gooseflesh covered her skin from head to toe. Not from the cold, but from sheer anticipation. She had never wanted anything as much as she wanted him. He brought his hands to her neck and traced his fingers gently along her collarbone, whispering her name repeatedly until it rang in her ears and her blood sang in response to his chant. He slid his hands over her chest, the thin material of her léine allowing his heat to singe her through the linen. His hands circled her breasts, making them heavy and tight at once, and then he cupped them from below the material of her underclothing. Suddenly, a flame flared in his eyes, and with a growl, he deftly slipped his fingers up to the shoulders of her léine and tugged it down her body to let it fall at her feet.
The shock of being naked in front of him caught her breath in her chest, but she didn’t move to cover herself. She didn’t think she could have moved, even if she wanted to. She was all knotted, and she had a feeling only he could release the coils inside her. Her nipples hardened when the cold air hit them, and a deep throb began in the pit of her stomach—and lower.
“God, Maggie,” was all he said before his fingers found one nipple and his mouth found the other.
Unimaginable pleasure flooded her, sensation overwhelming her. His fingers circled her nipple, making the ache within her grow as his mouth suckled at her breast. Reflexively, she dug her nails into his back, though she hadn’t even realized her hands had moved there. With each swirl of his tongue and pass of his fingers over her sensitive flesh, her certainty that she could remain standing diminished as her certainty that she was on the precipice of something grew.
Need pounded within her until it was all she could think of. She needed him to do something, but she didn’t know what. “I need ye,” she heard herself say, swaying with the intensity of what she was feeling.
His hands were suddenly between her legs, and when his fingers came to her throbbing center, she cried out. He moved his fingers in rapid, teasing circles until she was certain those knots within her would kill her. His mouth took her even as he continued his ministrations to her center, making the pulsing grow to dizzying proportions. And when she was positive she could not withstand a moment more, her entire body tensed and warm waves of pulsing pleasure filled her from within, over and over until her knees gave and she fell, only to be scooped up by Rhys.
She curled into the curve of his body as the waves of delicious heat slowly ebbed, and she could breathe again. A languidness she’d never experienced overtook her, and Rhys walked her to the tub and slowly lowered her in. Then, without speaking but holding her gaze with his heated one, he quickly removed his clothing.
When his body was fully revealed to her, her lips parted. He was a carved god. There was no other way to think of him. He was perfection, all sinewy muscle from his broad chest to his lean stomach to his narrow hips to what made him so utterly different from her. His desire was evident, and it inflamed her once more. She desperately wanted to do for him what he’d just done for her, though she had no idea at all how to do it.
He stepped into the warm water, the wooden tub just big enough for the two of them to sit but not move much. He surprised her when he said, “Scoot forward.” She did as he bid, and he slid into a seated position behind her, his thighs encasing her, the very essence of him coming up hard against her bottom. She wiggled instinctively in reaction to the wonderous feeling of him, but he gripped her shoulder and said in a ragged voice, “Don’t move. Not yet. I need to get myself under control.”
She did as he asked, secretly thrilled she could make him lose control as he had her, but then another thought hit her. “Have ye done this before?”
His arms came around her, the water sloshing and lapping at the edges of the tub. He held a bar of soap that he must have taken from the ground at some point. He brought it to her stomach and began to clean her as he spoke. “I have never bathed with a woman. And though I’ve seen women naked, it was never like this. Not like it is with you.” He ran the soap over her breasts, her arms, her neck, and then he cupped water in his hands to rinse her. He stilled suddenly, his lips coming to her neck where he kissed her, then to her ear. “I was lost, Maggie, but I didn’t know it until you found me.”
Happiness and sadness collided, but there could only be room for one tonight, and she chose happiness. Sadness would come later. It was, she feared, as unavoidable as the sun rising.
Chapter Thirteen
So if you’re made of empty spaces,
Don’t ever think it’s wrong,
Because maybe they’re just empty,
Until the right person comes along.
~ Ernest Hemingway, “Empty Spaces”
He’d been empty. He’d always suspected it, but he hadn’t known how vast the emptiness within him had been until this moment. She filled him with her flowery smell, her silky skin, her radiant beauty, gasping wonder, and warm kindness. She filled him with happiness he had not known possible. And desire. So much desire he could barely think. He held on to just enough reason to remind himself to keep control. He had to be able to stop.
For her.
If he was thinking only of what he wanted in this moment, it would be to mark her as his forever. Regardless of time. Regardless of what may come.
But he didn’t deal inregardless. Never had. And as much as he wanted to be reckless, to indulge, to possess her, he would restrain himself because he knew how women who were pregnant out of wedlock were treated in this time. That knowledge helped cool the raging inferno within him.
